Snapshots of Charlie
by Cascade Waters
Summary: A peek into Charlie's life through the eyes of a loved one.
1. 9575 9:38PM

Snapshots of Charlie

by firechild

Rated K

Warning: Daddy-sap!

Disclaimer: I own... a brand-new bottle of rolaids! And... yep, that's about it!

A/N: This is my response to a challenge I set for myself (I posed the challenge to everyone else about the time I posted the first entry;) the challenge was to write a drabble/snapshot for either each episode of a show or each year of a character's life. Since this was a challenge to myself, I chose a character I key into less than others--Charlie.

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9-5-75 9:38PM

You look like your mother.

Okay, so it kind of looks like you may have gotten my jaw and maybe my nose (sorry, baby) and okay, so you're only just shy of six hours old, so you've got years to show us who you are and who you favor, but... well, you do--you look like your mother.

It's the eyes. I've stood here in this hospital room, gazing at you for most of the past hour, trying to bond (or whatever they're calling it these days) and to let your mom get some sleep, and I finally figured it out. It's definitely the eyes.

Not so much the color right now, though that'll probably change--your brother's eyes changed colors three times that first year; his eyes were how he got his middle name--but the shape of your eyes, and how they're so huge like they're designed to take in everything, and the... the kind of depth they have. Donny's eyes have one kind of depth, yours and your mother's have another.

See, this wonderful woman, who brought you into this world and brought light into mine, has this way of looking at the world like it all boils down to one element, one rhythm, and when she finds it, when she gets inside that rhythm, the rest of the world just seems to make sense. I don't know if you'll think about it just the same way she does, but I think that when you start to experience life, you'll find some rhythm of your own, whatever form it may take--because you have her eyes.

We're going to name you Charles Edward--after her two uncles who always supported whatever she tried to do and who helped her learn not to be afraid of the way she thought. They've been gone less than a year, taken in a horrible rockslide in the mountains, and losing them hit her hard, but in a way I think you saved her, gave her some new joy to focus on, and looking at you now, I don't know, maybe I'm just crazy, but I'm starting to think I see those two great men in you, like you're their way of making sure that she will never have to face the world without them. Oh, she doesn't do music anymore like she did once--Charles and Edward were always disappointed about that--but I can tell that she still thinks her way into her rhythm, and it still works for her. You'll be good to her, my son, you'll be good for her; handle her with care and respect.

You're looking at me now, with those eyes; I know that you can't really see me yet, but you know I'm here and I'm hoping that you know how glad I am that you're here. You were a little bit of a surprise, I'll give you that--we thought that your brother was it, that we weren't going to be able to have any more kids, but here you are, fit as a fiddle by the looks of you. Sitting here in this room, being close to you and your mother in a way I wasn't allowed to be when your brother was born, I see you looking at me as though you see me, as though you see through me, and I realize that this, right here, this is our moment, our time. I'm your father, and even though it seems like that doesn't mean anything anymore to most people, it does to me--it means that you are mine, to take care of, to guard, to teach. I am your father, I am yours to count on. And I swear to you, my sweet little boy, that I will do everything within my power to keep you safe and to help you grow and succeed. I love you, little one, and there is no doubt in my mind that you are something special and that you will make a difference in this world.

So I'm writing this for you now--because somehow it's easier to write now than to say later--so that years from now, when you're old enough to read this (and be thoroughly embarrassed by it,) you can open the book your mom started for you and you can see this note and know that whenever you feel frightened, whenever you start to lose your rhythm, I will be right here, and you can always come back to me and I will always help you find your way again--I will always be your father, your protector, your ally, your anchor. Wherever I am, you will always have a home.

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	2. 9576 9:38PM

(All disclaimers in chapter 1...)

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9-5-76 9:38PM

Yes, I'm at it again.

Oh, don't give me that look. In the 60's they told us all to find ourselves, figure out who we are, what makes us tick--turns out I'm sort of sentimental. So sue me.

No, don't sue me, you'd lose; my wife's a lawyer.

So you're a year old today. And let me tell you, kid, you're perfect. Really, you are. Even if you do have my nose. You're not really talking much yet, not where we can understand you, but you like to make yourself heard, and it's fun to listen to you babble. You like to move, maybe even more than your brother did at this age, so we have to be really careful not to lose track of you at any given time; you crawl, you scoot, you scramble, you scamper, and soon you'll be walking without help, and then running.

This entry will be short because you already take up a lot of energy. I'm standing over your crib, thinking that it won't be long before you won't need it anymore, and I feel torn between going to bed myself and sleeping off the excitement of your first birthday, and standing here for the rest of the night watching my heart sleep on that hard little mattress. You're safe, you're healthy, you're happy, but I wouldn't call your sleep peaceful; a freight train could run through your room at night and not disturb you, but there's just something so naturally... kinetic about you. You and your brother both have an innate energy, but yours is different than his--when he moves, he has a direction, a purpose, a vector; you move just to _move_, to occupy a new space, to experience every little bit of air and shadow and light. Just watching you wears me out, and at the same time you make me want to move with you, to go where you go, to see what you see.

I find myself wondering more and more these days what's going on behind those eyes of yours, especially when I see that spark there that makes me think that maybe, just maybe, your moving has more direction than I can see. There was this famous scientist who said he always wanted to take a ride on a sunbeam; I want to be there to ride the light with you.

You're moving even now. I can see one little leg flexing and kicking, like you're trying to wheel yourself around to something. I just put my hand down there, and let you kick my fingers a few times; you even wrapped your toes around my little finger and pushed a couple of times. That seemed to calm you down a little bit, and you settled down even more when I laid my hand on your tummy, but I still wonder what you're dreaming about. Maybe someday soon you'll tell me.

You, my child, are amazing. I can't wait to see where you go.

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	3. 9577 9:38PM

(All disclaimers in chapter 1...)

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9-5-77 9:38PM

Hello there, sweetheart. I found this notebook a year ago, the morning after your first birthday; your daddy left it in your room, probably by accident, and I peeked. Shhhh--don't tell him. It'll be our little secret. :)

I don't really know just what to write here, but since your daddy is busy giving you your bath right now, I thought I should fill in; he's started a good tradition here.

Traditions are important; they link us to our heritage and our past, remind us of where we have been, where we could have been. They unlock our present for us, tell us who we are and why we do what we do. They connect us to our future, teach us how to decide what will be important to our lives and how to protect what we value. These are important tools to have because, without them, we resign ourselves to repeat the same mistakes we've been making since time began. Hold on to the traditions, sweetheart; let yourself live in the moment and be open to the future, but never forsake the history that brought you here. Be a man of tradition, but also a man of vision, compassion, and hope; without them, we would still be wondering around in the desert.

I'm sorry, I don't mean to be preachy. Your father seems to write whatever he's thinking when he does this, and when I look at you, I think of so many deep and wondrous things; instead of overwhelming you with them, I think I'll try to focus on the moment.

I can hear you in your bath, splashing and giggling and probably drenching your daddy. We thought you'd be tired after the day you've had, with your first real birthday party and all the presents and people and running around, but you're wired now; we're ready to go to bed, and you're ready to play.

Your daddy is right, you are a bundle of energy. You are so much fun! You find joy in discovering every little thing we take for granted; I forgot how much fun it could be to have a baby around. You're strong, too--I'm surprised your father isn't black and blue now, after all the plastic balls you threw at him from that silly ball pool today. Your brother's too smart for his own good--he wouldn't even get in there with you; he just stood at the foot of the steps leading up to it, making sure that you didn't completely disappear. I guess there are some times he just knows best, especially when it comes to you. I think you have your own built-in guardian angel.

I can still hear you in the bathroom with your daddy. I think he just pulled the drain, and now he's got you on the rug and is trying to get you to stand still long enough for him to get a towel around you. Keeping you in one place has almost always been a challenge.

And it didn't work. I don't know how you got around him and got the door open, but you just came streaking (and I mean _streaking_) through here, giggling and bearing (maybe I should say _baring_) a striking resemblence to one of those cartoon characters with little cyclones around it. I could get up and try to help your father catch you... but I won't. I'm having too much fun sitting here talking to your future--and he's having too much fun chasing your cute little tush and the rest of your present all over the second floor of the house. :) You've always been such a beautiful baby, and I can tell that one day you're going to be a real heartbreaker (ah, ahem, fully clothed, please.)

Ohhhhhhh my word. I had to stop for a minute--I was laughing too hard to write. I can't be sure without checking, and I'm not ready to get up and see, but I think you just rocketed yourself, still very naked and very wet, onto your brother, who was probably laying on his bed with one of his Hardy Boys books. He wasn't in the greatest mood to start with, since Daddy grounded him last night for trying to play basketball on the ankle he sprained three days ago while playing hockey, so having you dive-bomb him probably added a really interesting twist to his really boring day. Don't let him fool you, sweetheart--he may act annoyed, but he loves you and he has more fun with you than I've ever seen him have with any of his friends.

We all love you, baby. All parents think their kids are the best, but you, my sweet, _you_ are special--more special than pretty much anyone we know. You just might prove that the greatest power comes in small packages. Be human, be humble, be realistic, be you, but be willing to dream big and ready to live your dream. And your daddy's right--don't you ever forget that, no matter what happens, this will always be your home.

Happy birthday, my sweet boy. Now, if we can only keep you clothed...

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	4. 9578 9:38PM

9-5-78 9:38PM

How did we ever live without you? You came into our lives such a short time ago--I know, for a child, three years seems like forever, but to a father, it was the day before yesterday--and now I have a hard time remembering what it was like without you. Not that I really want to. You are such a precious part of our world--even when you're driving us crazy.

You're growing and changing so fast, more and more every day, and you love to explore--today I caught you banging on your mom's piano, interrupting your brother's lesson again. Actually, I'm pretty sure he was enjoying the distraction; he would play a couple of notes, then you would take a whack at your end of the keyboard, then he would play something different, and you would go at it again. He was trying to look irked, but I think he was having fun--I think the two of you have already invented your own game. If he understands why you choose the keys you do, he's not telling me, but it doesn't seem to bother him that sometimes you mimic his play and sometimes you don't. I hope the two of you never stop playing together.

You do love the music, just like your mother. You don't seem all that interested in the usual tunes, but you like to string together chains of notes, and you don't always stick exclusively to the piano. When you really get revved up with your musical jamboree, you make me think of Burt on Mary Poppins, and how he had a one-man-band act. I'll have to remember to watch that with you, see how you react. Right now you're still mostly doing the cartoon-and-public-broadcasting thing. Although you do keep trying to sneak in when your brother's watching his Godzilla movies--don't think I don't know that, young man. No giant lizards for you, at least not until you're older. And no longer convinced that you can call your television 'friends' on the phone. I do not even want to imagine the bill I'd get if my three-year-old called Japan every Saturday morning asking for "Missa Monsa." We already have to patrol your shows and commercials for phone numbers--you are just way too good at remembering them and way too excited about "ma'in' nummahs tawk."

You are too cute, though. One day, I came home early from work and found you sitting on the kitchen floor in your little overalls, banging away on a couple of pots and a collander with your hands (your mama put all of the mallet-type objects well out of your reach months ago) and I don't get to be home during the day much, so I sat down and started playing with you; I drummed on my chest and my stomach and my knee, and then I did a rat-a-tat-tat on your tummy, and you giggled so hard that you fell over on your back and your feet flew up in the air. It was so funny, and now I wish I'd had a camera, especially for the moment when your mama came blazing in, thinking you were hurt, and the expression on her face was just priceless when she realized what was happening. I wanted to capture that moment forever.

Three is a great age. You bounce pretty much everywhere you go; you have a decent vocabulary, and that will get better when we can get you to slow down a little; you're out of diapers, and tonight you're spending your first night in Donny's old big-boy bed with the new counting sheets and robot blanket your mama bought for you. It's an exciting change. Your mother gave you the sheets and blanket this morning at breakfast, and she's been talking to you all day about your "new" bed and how you're not a baby anymore (of course, you'll always be our baby.) You see, this is why she's the smartest and most amazing woman any of us will ever know--she figured that you would have trouble with the transition, so she's been easing you into it.

And you know what? She was right--I can hear her getting you ready for bed, and you're a little uncertain about the bed situation, but she's reminding you of all the stuff she said today, and I think you're even sort of helping her put the sheets on your bed. I can hear you chattering away, getting more and more settled with the change. Now she's going over the counting blocks on the sheets, and even though we know that you know your numbers and can count pretty much anything you want, you're still doing it with her, and I think you really are enjoying it, every single number and every single picture, every single concept, and mostly every single moment with your mother. You know I love you, and I love spending what very little time with you that I ever get, and yeah, I guess part of me is just a little jealous, but there are very few things in this world that sound as good or as much like home to me as the sound of you and your mother laughing together.

And there's my cue--you're calling for me. It's time for me to go in and help put you to bed and sing the 'count to ten' song your mother wrote for you; I don't know if you will remember any of this by the time you read these notes, but I know that we will. These are precious times, and when you're off in the world, doing great things, the music and the numbers and the love will always be waiting here for you.

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	5. 9579 9:38PM

9-5-79 9:38PM

Happy birthday! Here we are again, another year gone, another year here. Where has the time gone?

I'd better be careful; in a few years, you might just try to answer that question for me. You're certainly smart enough to do it. I should know--I have written proof, right here in black and white. You'll never see this piece of paper, so you'll just have to trust your mama on this one.

Last week, I took you to see some new doctors, a whole group of them, not because you were sick but because you're special and I want to know as much about your intellect as possible. The doctors took you into a room with a low table and small chairs, and we watched you through a two-way mirror as they talked to you for a little while and then asked you to do several things. We were there for a few hours, and they were very nice--they even found a snack for you after you finished their games. They said that they'd never had a child finish more quickly, or ask so many questions. Considering that they were testing your IQ, they sure had a lot of questions for me. They grilled me for over an hour about your first years of life, about the family and the house, about what I ate and drank and listened to and read and did when I was pregnant with you, about your father and your brother and your father's family and my family and everyone else's test scores--I think they even asked about your grandmother's hair rinse. They were determined to figure out what makes you so special, so incredibly smart and quick. I understand why they're asking, but 'why' has never been all that important to me.

You see, I've always known that you were special. I had a feeling even before you were born, one of those things that only a mother gets. Of course, you're special to me just because you're my little boy, but this is different--I can't explain it, and I know how inexplicable things drive you bananas; sorry, kid.

Anyway, the doctor made a copy of his paper for me, and I locked it away in a safe place; I'm sure that your score will get out, I'm sure that you'll find out someday soon, but for now, your IQ is locked away with your brother's. That's right--I had him tested when he was a little older than you are now because I'd noticed something about him. I locked his score away and told him that Mama was just curious how he'd do with some special games, which was true; I locked your score away for one very specific reason. You already eat, sleep, and breathe numbers like your brother eats, sleeps, and breathes action, and the two of you are already starting to have trouble with each other. You think of yourself and everything around you in math terms. You keep trying to quantify your brother, and that drives him crazy. I don't want the two of you fighting. He loves you more than anything in the world and he is very protective of you, and you are just fascinated with everything he does, always trying to copy him. I never want you two to lose that. You're both very smart in your own ways. We spend a lot of time with you, Charlie, and your math is such a big deal around here already, and you're even about to have some teachers of your very own to help you do even more with it—Donny's okay, he'll understand, he knows you're special, but this thing has to have limits. I won't let a number define how you and your brother see each other and yourselves. I love you too much for that, and I know how much you want him to like you and think you're cool; you're always playing with his things. Don't worry about him getting upset with you for that, sweetheart; he likes to have something that's just his, but someday he'll remember that you are his. In fact, I think that, someday, he's going to be your best friend. Won't that be fun?

Ah, you'll have to forgive my mama-dreaming; I just love you so much, my little smartypants, and I want everything to work out perfectly for you!

And I'd love to continue to gush, but you somehow managed to sneak an extra piece of birthday cake just before bedtime (I smell a brother,) and I'm sure your daddy could use a hand getting you off the walls and into bed.

Happy birthday, baby!


End file.
